


strictly professional.

by sturidge



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Like, M/M, it's not reaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaallly that much nc tho, mostly not nc at all
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-27
Updated: 2013-11-27
Packaged: 2018-01-02 18:39:53
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,190
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1060202
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sturidge/pseuds/sturidge





	strictly professional.

“So, how's work going?” Ron asked, bobbing the head of one of those ugly dog dolls that Harry insisted on keeping on his office. He had no idea how the thing – a greyhound that resembled a whole damn lot _another_ big black dog they had been all too familiar with in the past – worked, but even Ron had to admit it was entertaining to watch it moving, up-and-down, up-and-down, up-and-down.

He missed the time when Hermione still did that to him.

“Well, you know”, Harry shrugged, behind the pile of papers atop of his desk. “Boring as usual.”

“Still better than fighting Death Eaters every two week, though, innit?”

“You can say _that_ again”, he moaned, stretching up. Ron could see the top of his head, already littered with greying hair. Harry, much like himself, was already in his late thirties; a successful Auror, he was one step away from taking the role of head of department, though he had declined the position – as well as the one of Minister – a couple dozen times by then.

After so many years of fighting giant snakes and Dark Lords and running away from danger at every turn, Harry had settled down in a nine-to-five job, with his little office in a corner of the Auror Department and his ever-growing pile of papers to sign. He was happy as it was; his kids were in good hands at Hogwarts (Neville had just taken over after Flitwick retired), Ginny had his business writing the sports column of the Quibbler; nothing seemed to be out of place.

Except for _one thing_ …

“Speaking of which, is _he_ still around?” Ron asked, looking through Harry’s tiny window. Out there, in their little cabinets, the Aurors and trainees carried on with their lives, counting the minutes ‘til they could head home. “The bouncing ferret, I mean.”

“Yes, Draco is still around”, Harry sighed, pushing his glasses up. “And as I told you the last five times, he is still a valuable asset to the department, and since you are still busy with the joke shop…”

“..which _is_ doing fairly well, thank you for not asking.”

“…I’m not really considering dismissing him any time soon. Also, he is Teddy’s 6th favourite uncle.”

“He only has six!”

“My point stands.”

“Well, y’know, whatever. At least Rosie has better grades than his little scorpion.”

“What about Scorpius?” asked a voice from behind the door. With another pile of papers on his arms, Draco came in, his snorty little face checking Ron from head to toe with disgust.

“It’s rude to eavesdrop, ferret.”

“It’s ruder to talk about other people behind their back, weasel.”

“Well, it’s not like your punk is doing any good at school, from what I heard”, Ron chuckled, thanking Merlin little Rose had gotten her mum’s brains. “And who names a son ‘Scorpius’, anyway? You must really hate the kid.”

“Really, Weasley? You and your matching initials really want to go there?”

“Alright, gentlemen, we are done for today”, Harry intervened, cleaning his throat – though he didn’t look like he really wanted to. After _Sectumsempras_ and _vomiting slugs_ enchantments were put aside, he had grown to enjoy the polite teasing between those two. Well, he’d been working with Malfoy for over six years, something good had to come out of it, right? “Ron, you can tell Mione I’ll see what I can do about the reports you just dropped by. Tell Ginny I’ll be staying up late, she doesn’t need to wait around.”

“This is the third time this week, mate. She’s gonna go bonkers.”

“I’ll deal with it later. And Draco…”

“The signatures you asked”, Malfoy said, dropping the new folders over the old ones. “And there was another round-up of wannabe-Death Eaters down at Dorset. Throwing up Dark Marks and wearing fake masks. Still, some people are freaking out about it.”

“We better look into that. Ron, if you don’t mind…”

“A’right, a’right. I’ll see you later, bossman.”

And with one last nose twitch towards Malfoy, Ron left Harry’s office. He considered going back to Hermione’s office – he’d been there for most of the afternoon, helping her with her cases (the shop didn’t have that much movement after the school year started, anyway, and George and Angelina were the ones watching over the filial on Hogsmeade), but his best guess was that she’d be knee-deep in problems, like Harry had just been; it was better to go home, or maybe pass by the Burrow, see if mum needed anything…

Ron was almost at the fireplaces when he noticed his wand was nowhere to be found. Had he dropped it? That had tended to happen lately. Wait, no – it was in Harry’s office, he’d left it at his table just after arriving.

In a bolt, he turned around, making his way through the herd of busy Ministry personnel, all eager to get home. Most of the Auror department had already gone home by the time he got back, except for the light on Harry’s cabinet;           and the little whispering of two very familiar voices.

“C-could you really not have – _ugh_ – come up with something else?” Harry asked, in bursts of breathe. “Did it really have to – _oh god_ – be the Death Eaters?”

Draco didn’t answer at first. It took Ron a moment to realise it was because his mouth was full. “How else did you expect me to get rid of Weasley?” he asked. “Saying there was a herd of pygmy puffs on the loose?”

With his heart beating hard against the back of his throat, Ron took one shy step further, peeking through the window of Harry’s office. What he saw disturbed him to no end.

He’d seen Harry naked just about a hundred times since they were eleven, but never like this – with his head leaning back and his mouth gasping open; unbuttoned shirt and trousers around his ankles. What was even more distressing was his hand, grabbing the top of the head of a very blond figure whose lips were pressed hard against crotch.

“ _Oh god, yes_ ”, Harry moaned, and Ron suddenly realised his obsession with the doggies. “I’m so close – Draco, _please_ –”

“I really like it when you call my name, scarhead”, Draco whispered, the tip of his tongue tracing the veins of Harry’s dick in ways that left Ron traumatised for life. And slightly aroused. But mostly traumatised. “I think I’ll give you a treat for that.”

Kissing him from his happy trail up, Draco circled his belly button, pushing his shirt off the way until their lips met. He grinned, gripping Harry’s bottom lip between his teeth; hands around his waist, Draco sat him on the table, spreading his legs wide – and pushing the papers flying out of the way.

Before Ron could process why Harry had his back against the table or why his legs were around Draco’s neck, he heard a low grunt, and the slap of Malfoy’s crotch against Harry’s arse, followed by a little sneer.

Then the corner of Draco’s eyes moved towards him. “Are you just gonna watch or do you wanna join in, weasel?”


End file.
